Friday, December 12

Congratulations to Ava Duvernay on becoming the first Black woman director to be nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Director in the motion picture category. Her nomination and those of other black media and film makers may be over due, but it's still inspiring. Film makers and other creative women in media like Ava give me hope. Media is a powerful tool. I'm hopeful and inspired by Ava and other creatives because their success, along with their drive affirm that our voices can and will be heard, but also honored.

Ava's work is praise worthy along with other talented black voices shaping media and film. For media creators young and old, it's good to see people who follow their passion and gain reputable success. There are a number of Black women media pioneers who are rising to the occasion and serving as inspiration, hopefully for more creatives to come. Here are a few play makers who are changing the game and leaving a legacy for the next generation.

Can you think of any other Black women in media and film who are changing the game? Tyra Banks, Queen Latifah, Karen Civil? You? Let us know your thoughts and picks in the comments section below. You can follow this conversation and the latest updates on Trey Anthony's Facebook fan page.

Sunday, November 30

4.5 minutes after I read that a grand jury decided not to indict officer Darren Wilson, I sent a text to my sister in North Carolina.

"You need to get my baby out of that f*&&ing racist place called the U.S. south!"

'My baby' being my one year old precious baby nephew. A few weeks before my sister had sent me a video of my nephew at a Yo, Gabba Gabba concert, a one year old at his first live musical concert! He is wiggling and dancing in my sister's lap. Dimpled fat cheeks, laughing, eyes wide open, hands up in the air. I watched that video on repeat, laughing, tears rolling down my cheeks.

My sister and I text back and forth debating on where is the safest place to raise a young black boy. What city can he be guaranteed a chance to reach manhood? We can't think of one...

The absurdity of our conversation is not lost on me, neither is the realism of the conversation; we are trying to save a life. Later, my mother weighs in on the conversation, after all, this is her first and only grandchild. She has the audacity to want this little boy to live. She has plans to attend his foot ball games, piano recitals, graduation, perhaps some day if she allows herself to dream boldly... his wedding. We know if we do not act soon we will run out of time. My mother shares that she has read on the internet that Hawaii has the least amount of black men in prison, plus she assures me that President Obama was raised there. Do we dare to hope that he could live? And perhaps some day even be president? We quickly do the math. My sister had three more years to finish her PHD, and then as a family, we can swiftly make our exodus to Hawaii! We speak in hushed, nervous but excited tones. I swallow the rising bitterness that begins to swell in my throat and grow in my heart as the realization hits me that this is a conversation my white friends will never ever have to have with their mother or sister. In three more years my precious baby will only be four years old. His black skin and maleness will not yet be deemed a threat. Now when he puts his hands up in the air, he is an adorable, dancing baby. For now he is safe...

I read the transcripts of Mike Brown's friend, Dorian Johnson, who was with him the day he was gunned down by officer Wilson. I learn that Mike Brown also had his hands up in the air, as officer Wilson fires several shots which hit Mike Brown's,black body, two of them in his head. Before he falls to the ground, Mike Brown, gasps, " I don't have a gun..."

`

As I continue to read, the ever present black fatigue threatens to overtake me again; the bitterness I can no longer swallow. Hawaii seems too far away. I fear that we are running out of time. I know with certainty that death can creep upon black boys lives in an instant, when they are on their way home from buying skittles, or as twelve year olds playing in a park, or when their hands are up in the air. I know their lives aren't worth much. No matter have many hash tags are now trending I know that #blacklivesdontmatter.

But I need my precious baby's life to matter. It has to matter! I'm haunted by Travon Martin, Mike Brown, and Tamir Rice. I wonder if their families ever planned an exodus to Hawaii. I wonder if their mothers quickly did the math. I wonder if they knew they were running out of time. I wonder if black fatigue overtook them. I wonder if they knew their son's lives didn't matter. I wonder what was Mike Brown's last thoughts before he was gunned down with his eyes wide open, his hands up in the air....I replay over and over the video of my baby, he is dancing, laughing, eyes wide open, his hands up in the air. Tears rolling down my cheeks.

Thursday, November 27

This performance of Hard-Knock life by Quvenzhané Wallis and company was fierce. If you didn't catch it on the show Dancing With The Stars here's the replay, or even if you did it's worth watching again...or several times. The awesome young star who we first came to love in Beasts Of The Southern Wild is back at it again.

Quvenzhané is starring in the remake of the film "Annie" which is opening in theaters on December 19th. I'm looking forward to seeing her performance in the film even more now. Go girl!!

Watch Below:

Are we agreed this was the cutest thing ever?! and how much are we loving that the host was pronouncing her name right! Leave your thoughts/comments below, and Join in on the conversation on Trey Anthony's Facebook Fanpage.
-- April D. Byrd is the Creator and Editor-In-Chief of breathoflifedaily.com

Tuesday, November 18

Congratulations to Solange Knowles and Alan Ferguson on their recent wedding that "broke the internet". After the recent Kim K magazine cover that the media was buzzing about, it's good to have some pure, decent, good news floating around. That moment when you break the internet for showing your class, instead of your a** well anyway... weddings are always a good look for pop culture!

Solange was classy at her wedding indeed! We're rejoicing with her and wishing her all the best this time around. Can we talk about that fabulous fro now?! That baby was a game changer! Solange's wedding is blowing up social media for being stylish and unique, but the fro itself is worth the buzz! when was the last time you saw a sista' or anyone rock a beautiful fro to their wedding?

Congrats to that beautiful fro! It's not often that we see women rocking their natural fro to their big day. The natural movement has had a lot of glory thanks in part to Solange being an advocate. Her wedding fro was definitely a positive statement. Be yourself, be comfortable in your own skin...and hair.

We've been lauding Solange's transition ever since she started her natural journey and she has always made a statement with it. She's continually given others the confidence to love our natural texture. I consider that going bare for the right reasons. It's rare not to see a lot of make-up, gloss and glam at weddings. Consider this blog a toast to Solange's vows before God, to her fabulous hair, and embracing natural beauty in a society that exploits photo shop, cosmetic surgery, and fictionalized beauty ideals!! Salud!!

Kudos to Solange for rocking her natural fro... oh yeah... congrats on the wedding too!

Beautiful wedding fro, you're the real MVP!!

Ladies, Gentleman would you rock your natural fro to your big day? How simple would you go? Leave your thoughts/comments below on Solange's wedding day fro, and Join in on the conversation on Trey Anthony's Facebook Fanpage.

Friday, November 7

The weirdest thing happened the other morning when I dropped
Z at school ON TIME!Yes, I
realize the fact that I managed to get him to school on time is, in itself a
weird thing, but it’s not the weird
thing I’m referring to.(You’ll
be happy to know if you read my posts about my encounters with the Late SlipLady last year, that Z has been late only five times this school year!)

The weird thing took place when I ran into his teacher who
has been on parental leave since last January, when Z was in grade 1, and will
be returning as his teacher this coming January.We started chatting about Z’s struggles in math, which are
significant and out of the “everybody learns at their own pace” range.She said, “Well you don’t know the
family history, right?”Wait,
what?Come again?

If you are new to my almost weekly blog posts, Z is
adopted.He came home at four
months.He was born close to
Toronto, where we live and our adoption was through the public system.He is awesome.He is also a kid, so sometimes he hides
his awesome.I am happy to tell you
all of these things.On most days,
Z is happy to tell you these things.What I am not happy to share, nor do I appreciate be asked about, are
the details of his family history.I also do not appreciate the assumption that the more challenging things
about him, such as his inaptitude for math, are connected to his family
history, which, of course, is assumed to be bad.

I am not saying that family history, medical and otherwise,
is not significant, but as Z’s parents, Wife and I can, with or without
asked-for support, consider the role of our son’s birth family’s history play in
his current abilities and share what is necessary.Where he comes from is important.It’s part of his life story.His entire life story has and will always be important but
it his personal story.

Interestingly, in this same conversation, I mentioned
(bragged) that our Z will be playing a mouse in the professional production of
The Nutcracker this year.Not
surprisingly, the teacher did not look sympathetically at me and say “Well you
don’t know the family history!”So
his special talent in and unwavering love for, dance could not have possibly been
a gift from his birth family?Can
we please stop demonizing the birth parents that place their children for
adoption?Can we please stop
assuming that they have influenced their children negatively?Please stop assuming you know where my
kid comes from.And please stop
blaming his birth family.It’s
really nobody’s business what Z’s history is until he or we invite them to make
it their business.

2 yr old Z ready to garden...obviously

And yes, there are occasions when a child’s history,
biological and otherwise, is essential to supporting them in school, but I just
wish that people would simmer down with the assumptions and trust that all
parents want what’s best for the children and will share information that is
relevant and important to help their children learn.(I do know that there are parents who have kept truly
pertinent information about their child, be they adopted or not, from teachers
and caregivers but this is not the norm.)

Reflecting on this exchange, I wish I had told his teacher
that her question/comment was inappropriate.I also wish I had said, “What difference does his family
history make? He is a student who is almost two grade levels
below in math, what are you going to do about it?"Instead of playing detective and trying to find answers for
who or what caused this problem, spend some time trying to understand his needs
as a learner and just teach him.Start where he’s at (not where he should be) and teach him until he
learns it.Not easy, but kinda
simple, right?

Phew, glad that’s off my chest!Thank you for reading my rant!

XO Ajike

* Some of you reading this may be thinking about race being
a factor in the teacher’s comments. For the record, I think it is, but I just don’t have the capacity or time to grapple
with that issue in a blog post.Additionally, I know that I really only skimmed the surface when it comes
to issues around disclosure and adoption.I hope you understand that my lack of depth here is not for lack of
understanding of the issues.

Wednesday, October 22

Where I live the temperature has dropped significantly and
there is no denying we are deep in the heart of autumn. It’s either grey and rainy or brisk and
sunny. With the arrival of autumn
is also the arrival of flu season.
Don’t worry this is not going to be a post about the flu shot and
whether or not you should get it.
In my house some of us get it, and some don’t for a variety of
reasons. Regardless of the flu
shot, however, our Mr. Lee will spend many weeks of the next six months
hacking, taking his puffers and hanging out in the emergency room at our local
children’s hospital. It’s all good
times for him throughout the many months of cold!

Mr. Lee has poorly controlled asthma with a side of 4
anaphylactic allergies.He is also
a buzzing, busy three year old who is otherwise healthy so I rarely shelter him
from people who are sick, and therefore he catches every virus his snotty
buddies have to offer.Don’t get
me wrong, I encourage frequent hand washing and request that he not lick people
as a way to greet them, but he’s wee, and if licking makes him feel closer to
his friends, then that’s a risk we’ll have to take!Truth is, I would
be happy if he got sick less and if every cough didn’t turn into a trip to the
hospital for heavy doses of Ventolin (airway opener) and inhaled and liquid
steroids.The high doses of
steroids are really, really bad for a small body (any body actually) but when
it comes to breathing the benefits outweigh the risks.It’s not just stress on his body that I
am concerned about it’s also the monthly experience of spending time with a
three year old fountain of energy loaded up with steroids!I am not exaggerating when I say that
my three year old has ‘Roid Rage!

Do you know Animal from the Muppets?This is regular Animal.This is also essentially regular Mr.
Lee.

This is what I imagine Animal looks like full of steroids
and Ventolin.This is a fraction
of Mr. Lee’s intensity when full of steroids and Ventolin.

Last weekend I spent two days hanging out in the emergency
unit with Animal aka Mr. Lee.

I never forget that I’m a lucky mom.I know that Mr. Lee’s trips to the
hospital will last only a day or two.He has never had to be admitted because we are now experienced and
comfortable taking care of our sick, but pretty healthy, guy at home.We know when to return to the hospital
and they’re always open (thanks for that, by the way).I’m surprisingly not worried about a sick Mr. Lee.Unfortunately, my chill attitude about
our little asthmatic was challenged when I took him in last weekend and his
oxygen saturation was low enough that he needed an oxygen mask.I was informed by the nurse, as she
quickly got an oxygen mask on him, that my baby was apparently about to pass
out.I was surprised he usually
doesn't get that bad, but he gladly took the oxygen mask and gladly tore it off
when he didn’t need it anymore.Being the weirdo that I am, as soon as I knew that Mr. Lee was okay and
in good hands (i.e.: not mine), I stopped worrying about him and turned my
attention to my favourite anxious thoughts reserved for when I am with my
children’s health care providers: Do they think I’m a bad mother?Do I seem neglectful or uncaring? Do
I seem totally neurotic?And my
favourite over the top thought: Do I have Munchausen by proxy?Who thinks these things? Anyway, Mr. Lee must have noticed that I had hopped on my crazy,
anxiety train and it was up to him to get me off. Fully loaded on liquid steroids and 34 (I kid you not) puffs
within an hour of “rescue inhalers” to open up his airway, he got to work on
redirecting my attention. How you
ask?

You know who has an unnatural level of strength and
anger?A three year old on a drug
that increases his heart rate.I
am not sure if Mr. Lee wanted to guarantee that I never have any more children
(never going to happen) or that I never use the bathroom again without crying,
but the swift kicks between my legs were a surefire way to guarantee that I
remembered that he was the man of the hour.And why stop at kicking? He bit me, scratched me, slapped me and my favourite – he
grabbed my face so hard with his razor sharp nails and held on while screaming
at the top of his lungs.I had
been trying to quell the screaming (to no avail) but was grateful for it when
he wouldn’t let go of my face.A
nurse – not our nurse, but a nurse taking care of a much calmer child, came
into the room, wondering if I was removing hairs from my child’s head one at a
time, causing him to scream out for help.She took one look at me and leach-boy and jumped into action to release
Mr. Lee’s painful grip around my cheeks.After I told her that I loved her, as you do, she
smiled and suggested that I walk the wild child around the emergency unit until
the doctor could see him again.The walk about was a good idea indeed and grabbing sterile bottles and
gauze and pushing dirty linen hampers around is not at all disruptive to the
families with truly sick children and the health care professionals trying to care
for them!Sorry hospital friends, I
am hoping that the cost of hospital parking will cover the damages.

Listen, I am not giving up on our goal to drastically
decrease the number of times we visit the ER this school year, but considering
that this is the second time since the beginning of September, the odds aren’t
looking so good.Of course the
silver lining, because usually if you look hard enough, you can find it, is
that nurse Anju and I can catch up every month and talk about our twins and I
can watch another set of talented medical residents make it through another
year. I am starting to feel a real closeness with the ER staff and let’s face
it “sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name”!

Thursday, October 16

by Ajike Akande

When I was pregnant with our first set of twins my mother
told me that she would pay for me to have a tummy tuck after the babes were
born. Please note she didn’t even
qualify this offer with statements like “If you want….” or even the less kind
“If you need…”, she just went for the jugular (or tummy, in this case) and
assumed that I would both need and want a tummy tuck! I was offended and shocked and seriously considered calling
the feminist police! This story,
by the way, has nothing to do with anything, I just really wanted to share it
with you folks because well, an actual person (who I love beyond words),
offered to pay for my future tummy tuck.
This kind of thing warrants documentation! Full stop.

A few interesting things have been brought to my
attention recently:

1. I over-share
on this here blog. My brother said
this. He’s a nice guy and all, but
we have never really seen eye to eye about anything. This is not only because he’s 6’6 and I am 5’3.

2. One of my
nearest and dearest friends told me that she finds my commitment to the
infinity scarf unsettling and annoying.
Something about it being a way that otherwise disheveled parents make
themselves look put together. She
declared this truth as though it’s a bad thing. I thank God every day for infinity scarves and that there is
a surefire way to take leggings (yes they are so pants) and runners up a notch!

3. My
unfocussed rambling, out loud and in writing, is charming and adorable. Nobody said this or probably even thought
this but it’s so true, right?

Okay so before you close your computer and stop reading this
nonsense, I’m going to bring this all together.

Last Saturday I had my first by-definition panic
attack.I actually had my first
panic attack after our first baby Isaiah died.I don’t really count that time because temporarily falling completely
apart and shattering like glass is, in my view, not an exceptional response to
the loss of a child.I’m not a
doctor, nor do I play one on TV, so I could be wrong in saying that what I had
after Isaiah died was not a panic attack but I am going with it, therefore
making last Saturday’s panic attack my first.

If you have never had a panic attack, just don’t. There are a bazillion other, less
scary, things to do when you are alone in your house. I felt like I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t catch my breath. My heart was racing; head was spinning. I thought it would never end. My mom, who I called on the phone, but could not actually speak to, listened to whole thing. It was
all she could do. Unbeknownst to
me she was getting ready to leave her house while on the phone in case she
needed to come over. I thought I
would have to go to the hospital.
But after about 20 minutes the panic attack was done. I was catching my breath and sipping water. I was relieved to discover that panic
attacks do end and don’t cause actual heart attacks.

I would love to say that my panic attack was caused by some
sort of cognitive distortion - that my mind was focusing on something that isn’t
real or awful or that I was letting a fear take over. The truth is, I was trying to solve some very real problems – how to ensure
that there is always someone available to be one on one with Miss O, how to
approach Z’s teachers about the fact that he is seriously behind in math, how
to support Wife in her efforts to spend quality one on one time with G-Dog
whose anxiety goes through the roof when she is being separated from her
siblings, how on earth to stop Mr. Lee from calling me a Butthead and about a million other things. With the pressure of family time (nuclear and
extended) over Thanksgiving it was all too much.

Not that long after losing control of my
body and thoughts during a panic attack, I was back to mothering as Wife and
the kiddos came busting into the house after riding scooters. We played and got on with the business
of being a busy, chaotic pack. Naturally, I dawned my infinity scarf.
I looked like I had it all together. I didn’t, but nobody could tell.

On Tuesday I had an appointment with my psychiatrist (This
may be what my brother was referring to when he said that I over-share!). Feeling that feelings of intense anxiety – not full-blown attacks but serious
anxiety, were becoming a consistent part of my days, I decided I wanted to ask
for a prescription for Ativan.
This seemed like a reasonable thing to help me get through those moments when I couldn’t
just breathe through the anxiety. Unfortunately, the challenges of asking for psychiatric
drugs is not lost on me, so I was worried about how “the ask” would go. I posted this on Facebook:

Because my friends are awesome, I received some hilarious
suggestions.

This is what I chose to wear:

Not seen here: black skinny jeans and colourful canvas shoes (conservative with a touch of cheery)

I considered the look featured below, but with the scarf, I
just thought I looked too together, and
that she would think I was possibly asking for the drugs to sell not for
personal use!

I guess I passed the imaginary test. I got me some Ativan. I have not filled the script. The yoga breathing, that I have never
and likely will never use while doing yoga, seems to be working. I am aware more aware than ever, how much time I
spend on looking like I have it all together. I needed my Facebook family to help me decide what to wear to the psychiatrist, after all. The makeup and sparkly jewelry, the scarf and the well-timed
sarcastic remarks make my depression and anxiety really palatable to those
around me including the people who are in positions of power with the ability
to directly impact how I manage my mental health. I “pass”. I
have access. I have education and
knowledge and money. I have
confidence. With this power and
access, I am able, with far greater ease than most, to care for my babies and
myself. When not in the middle of
a panic attack or one of the many frustrating and hard parenting moments I face
every day, I remember this privilege.

My take away from this post? (I’m pretty sure I write just to find the answers to my own
burning questions.)

1. Buy more
infinity scarves and know that sometimes I wear them because well, fashion, but
sometimes they may also double as a mask.
I am not the only parent using this (or another) mask to look like I've got it all together. The parents that we see at the park, in
the grocery store, at work, who look like they’re doing just fine, may not
have it together at all. They may
be employing the "fake it ‘til you make it" strategy just like me.

2. Be aware of
the privileges that I hold that make it never easy, but probably easier to deal with my mental health
issues.

3. I am doing
fine without a tummy tuck. Thank
you very much!

4. It is
totally reasonable to cut my hair every two weeks, even if I have hardly any
hair to begin with, because it makes me look like I have it all together and it makes me feel hot!

Gotta go. My
barber is calling me to the chair.
Not even making this up.

Thursday, October 9

Remember back in August, I wrote about how Wife and I
decided we were big family parents without considering whether or not we would
actually have big family kids.You
can read that post here. (By the way, I have learned that
deciding what kind of parent you are before you are actually a parent, or a
parent under specific circumstances, is a waste of time unless you like being
totally wrong and caught off guard.
You’ve been warned. You are
welcome.) At least one person
every day tells me that they couldn’t possibly handle raising five kids, or
twins, or two sets of twins.
Basically my whole life as a parent is something most people have no
problem telling me, they couldn’t handle!
This does not help me on the really bad days because on bad days I don’t
think I can’t handle it either but I do handle it because, well the small humans depend on me to
handle my s#*t!

Apparently, I’ve got a parenting situation some (many?)
people don’t want.What about the
kids though?They don’t even know
that their family could be different.They have two moms, a whack of brothers and sisters - one who passed
away before they could meet her.Z
has a Tummy Mommy, a mommy and a mama and little sisters and a brother who are
twins.They are mixed race,
and not.They are Jewish with a
mommy who is not.Their family is
their family.They only know that
having a family of five kids is a big deal because they hear what people say
when they find out!Wife and I
talk about how hard and intense it is to have a larger family, but the kids
don’t talk about it.I think we
all know, however, that just because they don’t talk about how hard it is,
doesn’t mean that they don’t feel it.

Assuming that, like us, our children feel a little
overwhelmed when all seven of us are together for the less structured weekend,
we decided to do something about it.Without asking the children their opinion (Why would we ask their opinion?)
we decided that every weekend the Silverman-Akandes would split up.Many families use the divide and
conquer strategy for an afternoon, or a whole day or occasional weekends.We like to take extreme measures.(This nugget of information should not
surprise you.)Friends, until
further notice, we will break up every weekend, except holiday weekends when we
will grit our teeth and lean in to the tantrums!After the children finish their 9am dance class on Saturdays,
two or three of them head up north with Wife to my family’s farm and the remaining
kids, which always includes Z, the tiny and heavily programmed dancer, stay
home with me.

We are about five weeks into The Great Weekend Divide aaaaaand,
it’s working.It’s not perfect,
but it’s working.The kids are
happier and calmer.So are we.I miss Wife and Saturday night take-out
in front of Netflix.Neither of us
gets a break, because we are always with at least two children.The kids miss each other and the mom
that they are not with.But, going
up north with mama means a slow, quiet weekend with no chores to be done.Staying in the city with me means a chance
to hang out with friends (if I get my butt in gear to make that happen) and
definitely some kind of sweet treat while being schlepped between dance studios
with the tiny dancer.Splitting up
also means that we can switch it up so that the twin sets can bond with someone
other than their regular partner in crime.The opportunity for our children to develop stronger
connections with each other is the sweetest bonus of the weekend break-up.

As it turns out friends, the Silverman-Akandes are not
better - good, but not better, together.Together we are loud love, non-stop giggles, frequent fights, high highs
and the lowest of the lows.Together we are shoulders up around our ears and kitchen dance
parties.We are extreme – the same
way we are all week.These
separate weekends, the 30 hours under different roofs, provides everyone with the
same good times but just enough calm to stalk up on cuddles and attention to
survive another busy school week.

Not surprisingly, every weekend, G-Dog whines to us that “we
are a family and we’re supposed to be together.”I love that she feels this way.I also suspect that somewhere she knows that together is not
always better.

XO Ajike

P.S. I don’t want to beg (at least not in a totally obvious
way) but if my peeps showed up at my house on a Saturday night with or without
(preferably with) a bottle of wine, I would totally let you in!

Wednesday, October 1

We have all heard the expression “the apple doesn’t fall far
from the tree.”Have you noticed
that the expression is rarely used in a positive way?It’s never like “Wow, your kid is so funny and
brilliant.The apple doesn’t fall far
from the tree!”It’s more like
“Your child talks a lot (read: too much) and is super stubborn.The apple doesn’t fall far from the
tree!”What is “wrong” with the tree
is sometimes “wrong” with the apple.Nature, nurture or combo of the two - doesn’t matter, sometimes the
apple just falls right next to the tree.We often reap what we sew.Sometimes we could stand to cut a new pattern before getting our stitch
on.

Our marvelous and “extra” G-dog was recently diagnosed with
Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD) (why be specific about anxiety, always go
for a catch-all) and Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD).We could have a debate about the
problems with diagnosing and labelling kids as well as the degree to which the
people who do the diagnosing actually know our kiddos, but that’s a
conversation, not a blog post.Wife and I have chosen to let “the people” assess and diagnose our
kiddos because the process and the information gathered may be helpful.It may also be a waste of time, but
hope springs eternal that it will help us, and most importantly, them.

Assessment and diagnosis doesn’t change our kids or their
behaviours except maybe
G-Dog’s. During a public tantrum (the best kind of tantrum), days after meeting
with the psychiatrists at our local children’s hospital, when I asked her to
speak kindly to me and not hit me, she yelled, with a familiar scrunched up,
gritted teeth face, “Didn’t you hear the doctors?I’m not like you!I’m a different person!I’m
not like everyone else.I hit and
scream! I’m not like you!”First
of all, G-Dog you are sooooo like me!Secondly, this scene serves as a reminder of what can happen when assessing,
diagnosing and labelling kids – they start to believe their diagnosis is who they are not something that makes
life, in many cases, harder and hopefully what provides them with some unique
gifts.

Fortunately, after we received the diagnosis or what I like
to think of as the black and white documented reminder that G-Dog is not doing this
- the tantrums, the hitting, the rigidity on purpose, she was offered a space
in a therapy group for wee ones with anxiety & and difficult behaviour.By the way, the reminder that she is
not doing this on purpose is the most important part of the whole assessment
and diagnosis process for me.Anyway, for 10 weeks anxious kids get together and teach each other new
things to be anxious about.Could
you imagine?In reality the kiddos
get together and learn how to manage their anxious thoughts and subsequent
behaviour, while the parents learn how to support their kids who just feel
things “extra”.

At our parenting group last week, we were introduced to a
temperament rating scale.We
looked at different areas such as sensitivity, adaptability, and approach to
new things and had to plot ourselves, our partners and our kids on the scale.Not surprisingly, we were asked to
examine the scale after to see if we could notice any patterns.You know where I’m going with this
don’t you? In front of me, was a
temperament scale confirming that Grace’s behaviour was not her fault; it was
mine!Nurture is powerful but it
seems to be that I, through nature, have passed on some of the special traits
that make me totally “extra”!

Wife and Grace, are on opposite ends of the scale in every
category.They do not share
genetics.Based on the temperament
scale, Grace and I share ALL the genetics!Me: tree, Grace: apple.She feels too deeply, I take 295mg of psychiatric drugs a
day so I don’t feel too deeply!She
screams with such intensity and volume that it can be very scary.I’ve worked hard (and succeeded) at not
dealing with my anger in that way.She is good at understanding how others feel and when she feels love,
everybody hears about it.Me
too.I “get” my baby G-Dog and
maybe when she’s older she’ll get her mommy too.

Now that it has been brought to my attention that my little
apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree, I want to write something that one day I
will share with her.

To my G-Dog,

First we have to get something out of the way. Do you know how much I love you?You will probably never really know,
it’s just so, so, SO much.

I know you don’t always feel my love for you because you see
my angry face, even when I’m not making one. You don’t always feel my love because you hear my deep
sigh, that is about how tired I am or overwhelmed I feel or annoyed I am with
the driver in front of me, and think it’s about you.You don’t feel my love because you listen carefully to every
syllable of every word that comes out of my mouth seemingly listening for
frustration or anger or flippancy directed towards you.You do all of these things, so you may
not always feel my love.I used to
do the same to my mommy, your nanny.In fact I sometimes still listen and look for Nanny’s unspoken feelings
about me but now I don’t mention it to her, I tell Mama instead!Mama loves having to debrief my
conversations with Nanny; it may be her most favourite thing about living with
me!

The point is, G-Dog, I understand the worry you feel about
how much Mama and I love you. My
sweet, you are one of my five favourite imperfect people on this earth.(The other four are your brothers and
sisters.)I know how much you hate
to be wrong, but when it comes to you thinking that I don’t love you as much as
I love all the Silverman-Akande small humans, you are wrong kiddo.Really, really wrong.I adore you girl.That’s just the way it is.Aaannnnd you are imperfect (so am I) so
sometimes I gots to lay it down and let you know ‘cuz that’s my job as your
mommy.But I never stop loving you
even when I’m angry.

And when you complain about having to leave the house to go
anywhere new, especially a party, I know how you’re feeling. I have to fight my
urge to just say, “Don’t worry baby, we can stay home and cuddle up on the
couch and watch our favourite shows and eat the same things we always we eat, 'cuz we hate change.”I never want
to go to parties and meet new people and eat new food.When Mama makes me go, or even better,
when I make myself go, I often have a really good time. I’ve had to learn to
push past the “I don’t want to leave the house” feelings.I hope I do a good job at showing you
that I understand your fear while encouraging you to do what’s hard because I
want you to know that you can do hard things.

Here’s the thing, you are a whole lot of “extra”.You feel deep, deep, deep.It’s so wonderful, it can also be hard
and exhausting.You come from a
long line of deep feelers.When feeling
so much is hard, know that I am sorry to have given you this burden.When feeling so much is wonderful, know
that I am honoured to have given you this gift.

We are so much alike, but we are not the same.You will do with your “extra” self,
what you wish to and what you need to.I hope you do better than I have with all your big feelings because you
are learning about them and how they work inside of you as a little one.Mommy had to grow up and become a
lesbian and subsequently go through years of therapy before I started
understanding my big feelings. (Seriously G-Dog coming out as a lesbian and
then enrolling in therapy was a “thing” in my day.)

Friday, September 19

"I was bruised, but I wasn't Broken"! We've all been there. The Powerful words came from Sheryl Underwood Co-Host of "The Talk" when she revealed a juicy secret on the show.

Sheryl's presentation of her truth turned out to be one of the most absolute boss moves I've ever seen on TV. and I didn't actually see it on a TV, but of course #SherylUnderwood was trending, because that's how BOSS it was!

If you haven't seen the video already you might want to check it out! (Below):Share your thoughts about it in the comments section.

What did you think about Sheryl's share? Do you think it was appropriate? Would you have done it?
Leave a comment below and Keep up with the Convo on Trey Anthony's Fan Page!

Wednesday, September 17

For sometime on this here blog, I have been touching on what is
going on with Miss O and G-Dog, without really getting into the nitty
gritty.I just haven’t felt like I
could or should totally “go there” but I think it’s about time that I start
talking about and naming my girls’ challenges. I recently started following Diary of a Mom, a blog written by a mom with two awesome girls, one of whom is
autistic.Sometimes I find the
Diary mom way too perfect.She never complains about the challenges of raising a child with special
needs but focuses on how she manages the challenges.She seemingly advocates effortlessly for her daughter and
celebrates her beautifully.She’s
also a fabulous phone photographer and captures her ridiculously beautiful
daughters perfectly.A little bit,
I hate her.

The point is, though, her daily stories help me see my little
monkeys in a different way.Her
posts make me feel less frustrated and more loving.They make me want to do better as a mom to kids with
challenges.And for reasons not
clear to me right now, her blog makes me feel as though I have a right to take
up some space in the corner of the blogosphere occupied by parents of kids with
special needs.

This won’t be my last post about raising kiddos with special
needs, but it’s not what I plan to write about all the time.I also need to be clear that all
children, regardless of their needs, are totally frustrating and stress
inducing (and also awesome) so just because some of my children have special
needs does not mean I won’t complain about how annoying they all can be.If it makes you feel any better, I am
100% sure that they will (do?) complain about me and Wife just as much.I should also say that I’m not a parent
who feels like our children’s challenges are a blessing.The children
are a true blessing; their challenges are not.You won’t hear me saying that I wouldn’t change anything
about them, ‘cuz I would.I would
take away the part of their brain that makes a seam in their socks feel like a
needle.I would take away the part
of them that makes surprises no fun at all.I would take away the part that makes it hard for them to
persevere when they are trying to explain what they want or what they think.And while that absence of those things
would make parenting them easier, I wouldn’t take away the tough stuff for me,
I would do it for them.Our Miss O
is the happiest person you’ll ever meet but there are parts of every single day
that are excruciating for her.Nobody wants that for their child.G-Dog has to push through a whole lot of worries which make her so angry
and so defiant, to find her happy.I feel for her and wish it were different.

To write about both girls and their special needs, would take a
really long time, so I’ll start with Miss O who is having the hardest time
these days.

Almost two years ago, Miss O went through a developmental and
cognitive assessment as well as genetic testing.In the end, we were told that her genetics were beautiful
(thank you Mom and Dad and Sperm Donor Guy), that her results landed on the
diagnostic cusp of Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) and that she will likely have
a learning disability based on early cognitive testing.In regards to an ASD diagnosis, we were
told that girls are often diagnosed later than boys and that we may find that
as she gets older and the social demands increase, she will meet the diagnostic
criteria for ASD.Watch and see.When they told us about her results in
the cognitive tests, we all agreed that it was too soon to really know anything
about any learning difficulties.It’s a little unfair to test what has definitely not been taught.Let the child go to school before we
decide she has trouble learning!

But, of course, parents know their kids.Before her third birthday she had received physical,
occupational and speech therapy.Being the superstar that she is, she took that therapy and told us all
where to go when she reached every goal we set within the time we had hoped,
but we still had this feeling that our superstar daughter wasn’t like other
kids.With a built in comparison
in her twin sister, the differences were hard to ignore.

After being told that she had the characteristics of a child with
autism except that she was too social and too interested in sharing her world
with those around her, we learned about ways that we could support her.We confirmed that she has Sensory
Processing Disorder (SPD), learned about issues of sleep and autism and
starting using picture schedules and social stories to help her manage daily
routines and transitions as well as new outings and experiences better.We found an amazing school that offers an
integrated program with 20% of the class having ASD, communication disorders or
other developmental issues. (G-Dog has joined her sister at Yes I Can and we truly believe
that both girls are getting a wonderful program that meets their needs.) We
carried on as though Miss O had a confirmed ASD diagnosis, because we truly
felt that that was what was coming.

Now, almost two years after Miss O’s initial assessment, we will
be heading back to the team of psychologists, therapists and nurses to repeat
the assessments.We are starting
to see significant regression and loss of skills in Miss O and she is having
greater difficultly getting through the day.We are seeing our smart, funny child with excellent language
skills, who expresses herself well, struggle to communicate.We are seeing our kind and
compassionate child become overwhelmed and behave inappropriately towards
others.Miss O needs more support
and we need guidance and an actual diagnosis to ensure that she gets it.

Knowing that the assessment will take place in the next couple of
months, I have said to close friends and Wife, that I feel as though we are on the
verge of receiving bad news.I
don’t know for sure what this new assessment will reveal but I know in my heart
that our awesome, superstar Miss O experiences this world a bit differently
and that can be really hard for her.And while I think the news will be “bad”, like all news, it won’t be a
big deal for long.She’ll be the
same kid, that fills and breaks my heart every day, but we will, and most
importantly, she will have more information about how to turn down the
excruciating and turn up the joy.

I will definitely share more as we learn more about Miss O.Before signing off, I have to share
this: One of the things that we have discovered about Miss O, is that nothing
calms her hurting heart like YouTube videos, specifically Tyler Ward’s acoustic
version of Rihanna’s song Umbrella.After an epic (sorry neighbours) meltdown last Sunday evening we watched
the Umbrella video 12 times in a row!In. A. Row.It was the only
thing that would calm her down.It
was truly remarkable.So these days, when her calm, and her joy go missing, she finds them in
this video.I actually wrote Tyler
Ward a letter thanking him!He
probably won’t respond because, ah, weird mom, but I had to thank him.He totally saved Sunday!

Just in case you have misplaced your calm or joy, or you love a
good acoustic cover of a pop song (they’re soooo great), here’s the video:

Oh and here are the lyrics to the song that Miss O, after
screaming for 20 minutes, listened to 12 times while cuddling with me with her head
on my chest.I may have cried
listening to the lyrics and soaked the dear child’s head.Just read the lyrics, you would cry too (if it happened to you)!

You had my heart, and we'll never be worlds apart
Maybe in magazines, but you'll still be my star
Baby 'cause in the dark, you can't see shiny cars
And that's when you need me there
With you, I'll always share

Because when the sun shines, we'll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
Said I'll always be your friend
Took an oath, I'ma stick it out to the end

Now that it's raining more than ever
Know that we'll still have each other
You can stand under my umbrella
You can stand under my umbrella (Ella ella, eh
eh eh)

Follow by Email

Followers

trey anthony

trey anthony. Creator, writer, producer, and actor of the hitplay/show 'da Kink in my hair. Currently I'm a work in progress. Trying to be a better person each day. Madly obsessed with Oprah. I want to be on her network, so I'm just putting it out there to the Universe! Loves to observe life. A writer, a daughter, a sister, a lover, a business womyn. I love call display so I can avoid answering people's calls! I love curling up with a good book! Dig passionate conversation with smart, passionate, inspiring people. Secretly eats chocolate brownie ice-cream whenever depressed or happy. I write my best "stuff" when I'm angry. I snoop on people's pictures on facebook even though i have no idea who they are! Trying to always poop and scoop when out with my dog, but I definitely do when others are watching. I have natural hair but sometimes have weave envy. Really seriously thinking about creating a family, love kidz!.... A lover of books and life!